


High Hopes Lo--High Loyalty

by Goldstone_Wolf



Series: High Hopes Low (Blank) [18]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), High Hopes Low Rolls (Web Series)
Genre: Blood, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/very little comfort, M/M, Malark Whump, Mind Control, Paddark, Sort of Everyone Whump, Violence, arrow wounds, lots of blood, minor gore, some cute paddark scenes at the end, spells, stabbings, tws for:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24412363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldstone_Wolf/pseuds/Goldstone_Wolf
Summary: Malark may be an assassin, but he fights to protect the one thing worth fighting for.Even when things are decidedly dark.
Relationships: Malark Dundragon/Paddock "Paddy" Whitlaw
Series: High Hopes Low (Blank) [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692196
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	High Hopes Lo--High Loyalty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BubbleDramatically](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubbleDramatically/gifts).



> I did not come up with this idea. The two people who did are Malark’s creator, Phil, who posted about it on his tumblr, and then BubbeDramatically, who brought it to my attention in a tumblr post and then sparked the idea there. I asked if I could write it. So, yeah. The quotes are not direct because I’m pulling them from the latter’s post about it (I’d find the original but I don’t want to lose this little inspiration firecracker). This happens sometime long after “Crown of Madness” because I have another fic called “High Hopes Low Dignity” that’s coming around that’s about that.   
> As usual, TWs in tags, and let me know if I managed to miss any but I should have gotten the general ones. Now—  
> Into the fray!

_“What do you fight for?”_

_Malark glanced over at Paddy, leaning against the railing on the top of the inn. It wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, actually. For the moment, though, he was going to blame it on the concussion from their last adventure. After all, Paddy had gotten hit pretty hard, it wasn’t a wonder that he might not remember some things._

_The wood elf’s green eyes held his, and Malark glanced down at the village square below them. It was quiet, several hours after moonrise, and the lanterns were being dimmed. A young father was walking his kids through the street, one of them racing ahead and the other clinging to his hand like it was a lifeline. For a few moments, he remained quiet, thinking over the words in his head. Finally, he turned back to his…friend._

_“I fight to protect the one thing worth fighting for.”_

_Blinking, Paddy smiled quizzically. He didn’t push, however. He never really did, after the first couple tries simply resulted in Malark refusing to talk to him._

_They remained silent for the rest of the evening, watching the moon climb higher above the peak in the distance._

+++

Malark hit the wall so hard his teeth jarred before he slid to the ground, side aching.

Glaring at his attacker, he pulled himself to his feet, rolled his shoulders, and dropped into fighting position again. Sunlight glinted off of white scales and the lethal blade of a battleaxe in his opponent’s hand. Currently, they were toying with him, smashing the flat of the blade into his side instead of simply hacking at him with it. That was how he knew. They could have killed him in seconds. Instead, however, they were drawing it out, making it hurt all the more and clearly getting a kick out of it.

He didn’t stand a chance against them.

A pair of familiar eyes glowed an unnatural, strange pale green down at him as his attacker stalked closer. Taking a deep breath and ignoring the burning of his ribs, Malark prepared to jump over them. He needed to get away—needed to find some place where he could rest and recover. Get his bearings. Figure out a plan. And more than anything, he needed to get out of the alley. He was cornered here, and at some point or other his attacker _would_ get bored of toying with him.

This was just supposed to be a simple mission.

This was just supposed to be their average, ordinary mission. They just needed to get in, take out whatever baddie was there, and then get out. Easy peasy, right? Wrong.

As he backed up, glancing behind him at the wall at the end of the alley and guessing the distance, he tried to gauge how much height he needed to get over the dragonborn’s head. Said dragonborn swung their battleaxe around in one hand, glowing eyes narrowing.

“Come on, Malark. Vere are zose skills of yours? Aren’t you a renowned assassin?” They mocked in a voice that was not their own, and Malark gritted his teeth behind the mask as he backed up even more. Pressing his hands into the wooden support beams and whatever the side walls were made of, he took a deep breath and kicked off, trying to get enough air.

Of course, it didn’t work.

A clawed hand wrapped around his ankle by the time he made it over the first dragonborn’s head. The second, however, was the one who grabbed him, yanking him down and smashing him into the cobblestones. For a brief moment, everything went black. When his vision returned, his ears were ringing violently.

He tried dragging himself away weakly, although he wasn’t sure that he was actually moving at first. The world spun around him, and dimly he could hear the throaty laughter of the dragonborns behind him. The one who’d grabbed him wrapped black claws around his shoulder and flipped him onto his back. The same glowing green eyes stared down at him.

This was just supposed to be a simple mission.

It had turned into anything but, he mused as the black dragonborn grinned wickedly down at him. Her companion smiled, too, cocking his battleaxe almost casually over his shoulder. For a brief moment, the sun was directly behind them, and Malark tried to ignore how much his heart sank at that. They looked normal, sunlight glinting off battleaxe blade and knights armour and silhouetting the cracked horn and puppylike snout he had come to know them by.

When the black one opened her mouth, the voice that came forth may have been her own but the words were not. “Vat is zat look for, assassin? Don’t tell me zat you actually _care_ for zem. Do you zink zat zey vould do ze same for you? Zey vould have killed you in a heartbeat.”

She slammed a foot down onto his chest, and Malark heard himself let out a hoarse wheeze. His ribs protested for a few moments, and he could feel the strain they were under before several nasty cracks echoed through the air. An arrow flew out of nowhere and lodged itself in the black dragonborn’s neck, sending her stumbling back with a bellow.

Taking his chance, he scrambled to his feet and bolted into the square. The second he was there, he glanced around, eyes narrowed to try and find a hiding spot. He wasn’t stupid—that arrow may have been meant to save him, but he wasn’t going to delude himself into thinking that they were an ally. He knew for a fact they weren’t, actually.

Not anymore.

+++

_“So…this is a bad situation…” Paddy gasped out, pressing his hands to his stomach. In between his fingers, the icy blue fletching of an arrow and the wooden shaft poked out. Wincing, he looked at Malark. “You know, there’s something we…really need to talk about…”_

_“Not now, Paddock. Just stay with me.” Glancing outside, Malark grimaced. He could hear heavy footsteps coming._

_“No, we—we_ really _need to talk, Malark.” He didn’t miss the urgent tone in the wood elf’s words, but Malark slapped a hand over his mouth. Outside their hiding spot, their attackers walked by. As soon as he knew they were gone, he uncovered Paddy’s mouth. A weak, red-stained smile crossed his face. “They’re…they’re coming for me, next, Mal. You need to get out of here. You need to run.”_

_“I’m not just going to leave you.” Something smashed, and a familiar voice echoed outside. It was a voice they knew, but the words did not belong to her._

_“Mal_ aarrk _, Paddyyyy…” Boots clicked on the cobblestones, and both men held their breath as the owner of the voice came walking by again. “Are you going to come out to play? I know you’re hiding, you just need to show up…don’t have much time, now do you? After all, this_ lovely _archer of yours never misses, does she?” They let out an appreciative hum, and Malark could hear their fingers sliding over the surface of a bow. “Excellent craftmanship, just like that arrow. I saw it strike. Whitlaw doesn’t have much time before he succumbs, just like the rest of his family.”_

_Malark glanced at Paddy, but the wood elf was simply staring outside. Reaching over, he squeezed his hand, and green eyes darted to his again. They had dulled somewhat, and not just from blood loss. All he could do was hope that Paddy could tell he was smiling behind the mask—he always seemed to._

_The half-elf wandered away again, and Paddy grabbed Malark’s shoulders with bloody hands. In that second, he understood what Paddy was going to try and do. “You can’t.”_

_“I have to, Malark. Okay?” Taking a deep breath, Paddy let out a shaky little laugh. “I’m sorry.”_

_“You’re making it sound like you’re dying.”_

_“Malark—”_

_“You’re not dying, Paddy. Not on my watch, I promise.” The wood elf looked at him sadly, and Malark frowned. “What? Whitlaw, I’m not letting you do anything stupid. You’re going to get out of this, everything’s going to be fine, we just—we just need to figure something out.”_

_He was rambling, he knew he was. Paddy stopped him with a small flick of his fingers. Something settled in Malark’s lap, but he was frozen in place._ Paddy, no. _He knew the elf couldn’t hear his thoughts, but he couldn’t move. In front of him, Paddy smiled, leaned in, and gently kissed his forehead. Despite the intimacy of the situation and the platonic connotation of that kind of thing, part of him knew it was anything but._

_“I know you will, Malark. But I can’t have you worrying about me.” Grunting in pain, he pressed a hand to the wound in his stomach and staggered away. “Hey! Over here!”_

_And with that, Paddy was gone._

+++

Malark’s hiding place hadn’t been the best, but it had been enough.

You know, until it got blown up.

Scrabbling away from the burning shed, he growled at how stupid he could have been to pick something wooden and then turned to look for his attacker. It was a brief second before he realized that they might be invisible.

Then he was kicked from behind, and something bit down hard on his shoulder.

Yelling, he rolled forwards under the weight of the thing—something big and black and undoubtedly familiar but with the same glowing green eyes—and let himself fall to the cobblestones. They pressed against his face and he tried rolling to the side. Instead of crushing the beast, however, he felt it bite harder into his side and then whip its head around. Apparently, the glowing eyes came with a level-up in strength.

He went rolling across the ground until he smashed into the fountain in the midst of the square. With a grunt, he tried hauling himself to his feet, but by then they were on him again. Teeth wrapped around his ankle, claws lashing down his other leg. Someone punched him in the face. Magic burned along his side from a barely-missed throw, blue crackling flames tearing through his clothes. His knives were ripped away. The familiar, stinging burn of one of them slipping through his ribs lashed through his body.

Then he was being jerked away from them, a clawed hand wrapping around the back of his neck. He was lifted into the air, punched in the stomach just for the heck of it. Around him, the rest of High Hopes stalked closer.

This was just supposed to be a simple mission.

“Enough.” A painfully familiar voice ordered in a distinctly _unfamiliar,_ sharp tone. “I need him alive, idiots. For now, at least.” The person stalked closer, until glowing eyes that were only a few shades paler than they normally were held Malark’s own. Reaching up, they ripped Malark’s bandages and mask from his face and yanked his hood back, grabbing his jaw with unkind fingers. Tilting his face back into the light, they smiled and tilted their head. “I wonder what he would do if I killed you. Would he scream and beg? Or would he just—” They cut off, and an expression vaguely like pained and annoyed discomfort twisted their features for a second. “Ah. That’s what he’d do. You’re lucky we need you alive, boy, because otherwise…” Holding up one hand, he made an odd little gesture. Autumn leaves swirled in a little dance before forming what looked like a glowing, translucent amber blade. It was deadly and beautiful in all the right ways, and all the wrong ones, too. “Well, that’d be very bad for you. In the meantime, let’s make sure he stays under wraps.”

They drove the knife into Malark’s stomach.

+++

When he regained consciousness, he was lying on his back in the dirt.

For several long moments, he couldn’t do anything but stare up. It wasn’t even at anything in particular, he was just…existing. His breathing was odd, almost hollow, but with a slight rattle to it. He didn’t know where he was, only that he was somewhere.

When he finally managed to regain some form of mobility, he hauled himself upright. The rest of High Hopes was nowhere to be seen, but Paddy was sitting on a box against the wall, sharpening the knife he’d previously driven into Malark’s body. Glowing green eyes flickered to him, and he raised an eyebrow. “I was wondering when you’d wake up, assassin.” There was a harsh, cruel tone to Paddy’s voice that was so unlike him, it was how Malark knew that it wasn’t really him. It was something else, whatever they had been sent to go and take down. “You know, I’ve been wondering about you. Get up.”

“And what if I don’t?”

Paddy flicked a hand, and suddenly Malark was yanked to his feet. Stumbling to the side as black spots danced in his vision, he blinked furiously to try and clear them away. _He shouldn’t be able to do that. I don’t think he even knows how._ “Oh, come _on_ , assassin, you can’t be _that_ daft. I wouldn’t just do this if I didn’t know how to keep my own abilities.” With another flick of his hand, Paddy-not-Paddy stalked closer. This time, Malark was pitched into the closest wall.

With a grunt, he slid to the floor, arms tight around his waist. Somehow, he hadn’t bled out yet, but he had a sinking feeling that was due to whoever was doing…this to Paddy and the others. They wanted him alive, wanted to toy with him in some sick game. For the time being, that meant that Malark needed to be kept alive. As soon as he ran out of his usefulness, however, or the person ran out of patience…

He didn’t have much time.

“Why are you doing this?” He choked out, feeling fingers wrap around his neck and yank him into the air again. Not-Paddy squeezed, and Malark weakly clawed at his hand. The thing that had settled in his lap earlier, which was now wrapped in his cloak, tumbled out and onto the floor. The wooden eyes in Paddy’s mask stared at Malark, and for a few moments he frowned. _Why would he leave that with me?_

Not-Paddy squeezed tighter, commanding attention, and Malark let out another choked wheeze. His ribs ached, he was bleeding. Not even he was dumb enough to think he had a chance. “You really haven’t figured it out yet? You’re High Hopes, Dundragon. You’re one of the biggest targets in Arcadon, _especially_ this little wood elf of yours. But I wonder…” Tilting his head, Not-Paddy mused, “Why haven’t you simply killed all of them? It’s not like you couldn’t—you had your knives on you. So why didn’t you…” Recognition flared in their glowing eyes as Not-Paddy looked down at the mask. “Ah. I think I know. Part of it, at least.”

He threw Malark to the side again, and Malark crashed into the wall so hard he felt his shoulder pop out of place as his head cracked against stone. Slumping to the ground, he sucked in a few pained breaths before hauling himself upright again. “Come on, Malark. You’re not dying like this.” He mumbled to himself, although perhaps not so comprehensibly, and coughed weakly as he crumpled to all fours. Blood dripped from his half-opened lips to the dust below, turning it to reddish mud. “Come on, you promised. You need to…figure this out…” Another wet, red cough left him with aching ribs and a coppery taste in his mouth.

“Talking to yourself, really? Are you so desperate for a pep talk?” A boot collided with his already-cracked ribs and Malark could barely keep back the groan that left him from being something more. Twisting in what was _definitely_ going to hurt if he survived this, he grabbed Not-Paddy’s leg and yanked it out from beneath him. With a yell, Not-Paddy fell back, then shot off a little magic spell that felt like Malark was struck by lightning. Gasping, he crumpled to the side and then tried hauling himself away. Even if it was useless, even if it was just to grab some sort of makeshift weapon. He just needed a little time.

“Stop it!” The voice didn’t come from him. It was Paddy— _his_ Paddy, not whatever twisted monster was currently swaying him over. “Malark, run! Now!”

The rest of High Hopes came thundering down the stairs, and Malark glanced up at them. They were much more beat-up-looking than he remembered, some with bloodied noses, others with it dripping from their ears or mouths or, in poor Rook’s case, his _eyes._ When he glanced back, Paddy seemed to be in much the same state, writhing on the ground and running his fingers up into his hair. Reaching over, Malark grabbed his friend’s _~~(stop calling him that, you moron, he’s not your~~_ ~~friend _)_~~ arm and pulled him close. Immediately, Paddy yanked away, eyes glittering into the bright green again. “No! Get him!”

The others all made little, aborted motions towards Malark, then stopped. Not-Paddy’s eyes narrowed and he made some sort of gesture. At least, he attempted to. His eyes flickered back to their normal green before he could finish and Paddy let out another yell, back arching off the ground as he dug his fingers into his own arm. Glancing between the groups, Malark tried to work out what was happening. “You’re—not—hurting—them!” Frantic, Paddy’s gaze darted to Malark. “You need to run, now! Malark!”

“I’m not leaving you, you big dumb idiot.” Paddy’s eyes widened just a little bit, and Malark tried for a reassuring smile but he knew his teeth were red-stained. “It’s going to be okay. What do I need to do?”

“The—the mask.” Paddy’s eyes rolled back in his head a little bit—he was starting to lose consciousness, which meant the other guy would be able to take over again. Scrambling over, Malark grabbed it from the blood-soaked dust.

“Got it. What next?” There was no answer. “Paddy?”

The wood elf had stopped moving, and Malark’s heart dropped to his feet again. Slowly, like something that had risen from the grave physically but not mentally, Paddy stumbled to his feet. Once again, his eyes were glowing, and Malark grabbed the closest thing to him. It was a stick.

He was going to try and fight this thing with a _stick_.

However, Not-Paddy didn’t lunge for an attack. Instead, he raised a hand, made a gesture, and the others all froze where they were. It was terrifying, in all honesty, seeing them like that. “You must be insane, Dundragon. Why won’t you just give up already?” Tucking the mask into his cloak, Malark used the stick and the wall to haul himself to his feet. Not-Paddy laughed. “Really, Dundragon? You want to fight? Still?”

“Tell me, Malark,” Not-Paddy stood over him, a wicked smile on his face. Tilting his head, he continued, “What _do_ you fight for?”

For a few moments, Malark simply stared up at him, at the glowing amber blade in his hands. This was going to be where he died. Paddy was going to kill him in some underground craphole in the middle of nowhere, and the rats and maggots would feast on his remains. Eyes narrowing, he stared up at the man. In that second, a thousand different images and moments ran through his mind.

The time when he was at the mercy of the lake, arms thrown out to either side as the waves pounded around him.

Later, when he’d thought Paddy had drowned for sure and then he blinked, proving that he was alive.

Paddy snuggling into his chest the next morning with that stupid little smile on his face.

The time when he’d had the tar beaten and whipped out of him and he woke up in their inn room with everyone around him and his head on Paddy’s chest, and then going to sleep to the sound of the elf’s heartbeat.

The time that Paddy was willing to use Crown of Madness just to help Malark sleep with a headache and battle wounds.

Every time the others had helped him when he was sick or injured, helped patch him up and keep him alive.

The time Paddy had gone off, sick and possibly dying, with Hashaan and Nagar to try and beat the bad guys, when he had come back bloodied and wounded in Nagar’s grasp.

Paddy’s arm around his waist as he tried to teach him how to dance, the glow to his eyes as he ran his fingers over Malark’s cheek after they almost kissed by accident and were saved by the mask.

The terrible sight of Paddy collapsing after Nagar’s battleaxe slashed his shoulders, and later the look on his face when he saw the damage that had been done for the first time.

The time they’d shared a bed after Malark had nearly choked the life out of him while under the effects of that stupid love potion gone wrong.

When they’d washed the horses, when Paddy pulled an arrow from his shoulder, the terror in his eyes when he’d nearly fallen off that cliff. The time when Paddy had run into a burning building after him, thrown himself on top of Malark and said he wasn’t leaving, told him things would be okay even as the ceiling caved in on top of them, even as they choked on smoke and flames. The look on his face when he was mourning the loss of Bay Hollow and he’d broken his mask and then attacked Malark without really meaning to just to get him to be left alone, and then later when he was sobbing into Malark’s chest with all the trust in the world. His expression when he saw his parents again for the first and last time. Even the time when the Juhyo was towering over him, paws raised, and Malark whispered the one phrase he’d had to hold onto in a death-grip tango for however long since this mission had gone south. “Have hope.” Even when Malark was holding him close, talking to him desperately to make sure he stayed awake when they were trapped on that cliff and the bear trap was around Paddy’s leg.

Lastly, the time that Malark thought he was going to lose him, when Paddy kissed him on the forehead and left his mask—

_The mask._

Taking a shaky breath, Malark spat out the blood in his mouth. He glared up at the man towering over him. For a brief moment, he could almost imagine this was someone else entirely. “I fight to protect the one thing worth fighting for.”

Reaching into his cloak, Malark pulled something out—and smashed the mask into the ground.

The effect on the mask was immediate. A bright, autumnal light filled the room. Flashes of gold and orange and scarlet whipped out in a gleaming glory of natural fire, lashed out at everything around them. It took only a few seconds, and then the glow faded as abruptly as it burned to life. Glancing over, Malark met Paddy’s green gaze, waiting for a moment. It was a long moment, silent. Nothing happened.

Paddy’s face twisted in pain and he doubled in on himself, screaming in pain.

And then everyone else started screaming, doing the same thing. Well, everyone except Malark, who was currently lying in a puddle of his own blood.

If it weren’t so terrifying, he probably would have laughed at how unusual it was. However, he was bleeding out, Paddy was probably bleeding out, too, and everyone was screaming. Part of him wasn’t even sure how long it lasted.

He just knew that eventually, he blacked out.

+++

When he woke up, Malark was somewhere very different.

For a moment, he legitimately thought that he was dead. He had died, and now he was somewhere else and Paddy was probably blaming himself. He probably thought it was his fault and now Malark had to find some way to—

“Chill out, you _moron_ , you’re going to tear your stitches.”

_That_ was _not_ what he expected to hear. Glancing to the side, he found some sort of glowing, vaguely humanoid being with white-green eyes sitting beside him. Floating beside him?

It was beside him, that was all he knew.

“What the hell are you?”

The thing didn’t have a mouth or eyebrows or pretty much anything other than eyes, but considering the way they turned into half-circles, the thing was frowning. “Look, if you want to see your wood elf boyfriend—”

“He’s not my boyfriend—”

“Uh huh, sure, keep telling yourself that, sweetie. Anyways, eat this,” a bowl of some sort of opalescent broth was shoved in his hands, “don’t ask questions, stay in the bed. I have a couple dragonborns to yell at.”

“What? Why?” Something broke outside the room, and he paused. The half-circles dropped even more.

“That.” Getting up, they disappeared. When the door opened, it stayed open just a crack, and they were gone for barely a few moments when a familiar person poked their head in. Green eyes met his and immediately they grinned and limped across the expanse towards them. When Malark set the bowl aside, he didn’t think about where he was putting it—he was more concerned with the sudden armful of wood elf that was Paddy Whitlaw.

“Hey.” He murmured, voice hoarse. Paddy sat back and started making frantic gestures that Malark couldn’t follow. “What? Paddy, can you—can you not talk?”

The wood elf made a face and cleared his throat, although what came out was more of a hoarse croak. When he spoke, he winced, “Not…rea—”

“Stop, stop talking right now, shut your mouth.” Smiling, Paddy hesitated before throwing himself into Malark’s arms again. “We’ll talk later. That good?” Paddy nodded, and Malark settled back into the bed. Both of them were covered in bandages, but they were alive and that’s what mattered. Above them, the bowl of soup or whatever it was floated by. “What the—” Both of them watched it and then exchanged glances. “Does the…whatever it is know where you are?”

Paddy bit his bottom lip and made a so-so gesture with one hand. Moments later, the thing must have gone into Paddy’s room, wherever it was. Paddy nestled into Malark’s side, grabbing his hand almost desperately. The voice that echoed down the hall was so shrill _Malark_ had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

_“_ PA _DDOCK!”_

**Author's Note:**

> This went from just Malark whump to freaking everyone. Basically, my thought process for the first two hundred and fifteen words of the second part (forgive my atrocious use of scripting and o—o type stuff. Also, think the Kermit and Dark Kermit meme):  
> First Me: Alright, so this is bad enough since, you know, he’s going to get the crap beaten out of him…  
> Also Me: Make it worse. Make it Nagar. Crown of Madness but worse.  
> FM: o—o but why.  
> AM: You gotta.  
> FM: Why. Why do you do this?  
> [AM: Because it’s the one thing you can’t replace].
> 
> But seriously, this was a lot of fun to do. Although I was constantly worried about doing Hashaan and Nagar’s accents. The writing is all based on what I found from Rise of the Guardian fanfictions that had North’s accent, soooo…yeah. It may not be accurate.   
> Also, at the part where everyone’s screaming all I could think of was the part from Be More Chill where they’re all, you know, screaming, and then you just hear someone (probably Michael) going ‘NYEEEHHHHH’ so, yeah, do with that what you will.   
> All the little moments mentioned are from my own series, so they’re not canon (obviously).


End file.
